


And They Were Soulmates

by only_freakin_donuts



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Fluff, Soulmates, i love them, they're so easy to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 19:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_freakin_donuts/pseuds/only_freakin_donuts
Summary: There's an old story in Chinese folklore about a magical connection between two people that are destined to be soul mates, called "the red string of fate". The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. This magic cord may stretch or tangle, but never break.[Or, a Soulmate AU]





	And They Were Soulmates

**Author's Note:**

> For the #SaveTimeless Birthday Fic Exchange. This is dedicated to Crystal! The prompt was: Lucy and Wyatt soulmates in multiple timelines.
> 
> The timelines I chose to use are: a timeline in which Wyatt was the stranger who saved Lucy when she almost drowned in college, a timeline in which she dropped out and joined a band and they meet in a bar, the original timeline we saw in the Pilot, where she's a professor with a dying mom (and a sister) and he's a broody, Delta Force widow and there is no Lifeboat mission. And then, lastly, this timeline. This dark, messy timeline they're in now. Cause if they're soulmates in every timeline, that would include this one, wouldn't it? :)
> 
> I noticed afterwards that the timelines I picked all had a lot to do with the ways Lucy's life could have gone, while Wyatt's choices rather stayed the same– he was military in all timelines. This wasn't intentional, but I guess his "path" per say was more clear cut than Lucy's was. If you guys want to suggest some ways his timeline could be different, and want me to write about those, suggest them below! (I had way too much fun writing these and would love to write more!)
> 
> And, guys, December 20th! We get out endgame! It's gonna be worth the wait, I know it will.

**1.**

_Breathe, dammit, breathe!_

He pulled his lips away from hers, wiping them dry, warming them up, and trying again. He props up her airway, pinches her nose shut, and sends two deep, pumping breaths through her. Then he does a round of chest compressions. Rinse and repeat. 

“Where is the damn ambulance,” he mutters, somewhere in the midst of it all. “C’mon, breathe!” 

Her eyes open slowly, fill with panic, and lock with his as their mouths are pressed together, as he’s breathing into her lungs, just as he starts hearing the sirens in the distance. “Hey, hey hey hey,” he tells her, pulling away. “You’re okay, you’re okay. Don’t sit up, just stay laying down. You’re gonna be okay.”  
She can’t find her voice, everything is cloudy. Where is she? She was driving, now she’s not, she’s on the road… she’s drenched. Everything is drenched. “Wh–”  
He rubs a thumb on a spot on her forehead, back into wet, mud-crusted hair. She’ll definitely have a goose egg tomorrow. “You’re okay,” he reassures her again. “Can you hear the sirens? I hear the sirens, they’re coming.” 

She keeps her eyes locked with his, because he’s so calm, the whole time. He makes her calm. His eyes are blue like, blue like, blue like… “It’s okay,” he says one more time, as her eyes dart and her hands shake in panic. She isn’t calm anymore. One hand stays gently stroking her forehead, and with the other he takes one of hers. He only lets go when he has to, as the paramedics take over, taking her to the local hospital. He can barely blink before she’s loading in the back of the ambulance and there’s a cop asking what happened here. What disaster he witnessed.

“I’m not, I’m not a hero,” he stumbles, trying to find his words while his head’s still spinning. “I saw a car in the water and I just jumped in. I’m trained to save people, it’s my job. I know how to pull a girl out of water, how to do CPR.”  
“She’s a lucky girl,” the officer recognizes. “A few more minutes under and she could just as easily be in a body bag right now. Instead she’s gonna be alright, and she’s got you to thank for that.”  
“What hospital are they taking her to, can I ask that?”  
“Sequoia’s the closest,” the cop responds. “I’m sure she’d like to meet you, when she’s recovering,” he agrees.

That would be how Wyatt finds himself driving to Sequoia Hospital bright and early the next morning, wandering in without so much as a wild guess at where he’d find a girl he had never met in a big hospital like this. A girl he’d never met, yet he’d performed mouth-to-mouth on, held her hand, reassured her in some of the scariest moments of her life, he would bet. But he didn’t know her name, her age, anything about her. 

“T-there was a girl brought in last night in an ambulance, uh, she almost drowned, her car went into the reservoir. I’m sorry, I-I don’t know her name…”  
The lady directs him to a different desk, who direct to another desk, and finally. “She’s in room 9, down the hall and hang a left.”  
“Thank you.”

He knocks before entering, he’s invading her privacy enough for a lifetime already. She peeks her head out from the tiny bathroom she’s got in her room, wearing a bathrobe brought from home over her hospital gown, once again wet hair- just out of the shower. Sure enough, she’s got a goose egg on her forehead, just as he suspected she would. She tries to smile a little when she sees him, as her hands begin to shake again. Those eyes, blue like…  
“H-hi,” he offers. “I just… I wanted to see that you were okay.”  
Thin lips stretch into a real, bashful smile now, as she nods. “I’m okay,” she answers.

Her voice wasn’t what he expected. Sweet, despite a little gravelly. She wasn’t really what he expected, in this light she looked much younger than she had yesterday, much more fragile, but also a lot tougher. He smiles. “I’m Wyatt, by the way,” he tells her.  
“Lucy,” she tells him. “Thank you,” she says next, nodding just slightly. “You, uh, you saved my life. I-I don’t… I don’t know what to say, or…”  
“You don’t, you don’t have to,” he offers. “US military, just doin’ my job, ma’am.”  
She feels the need to straighten her posture, or something… she’s all of twenty, no one’s ever called her ma’am before. A part of her kind of liked it, even if it does make her feel a little strange. Awkwardly, she scratches at her scalp. And she groans as she still finds mud under her nails, even though she’s showered. Wyatt watches her without saying a word.  
“The goose egg,” she mumbles, “I got dizzy in the shower. It’s fine, I’ll shower again tomorrow.” She takes her hairbrush and slowly wades past him, back to bed.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks, sitting down on the bed with her. “Other, than the goose egg?”  
She nods, taking the brush to the ends of her hair. “A little bit sore,” she mumbles. “My lungs, uh, they hurt, kinda. I’m just drowsy, and weak, the lack of oxygen…”  
He nods. “I can go, if you want to rest,” he offers. “I don’t want to be a bother.”  
She shakes her head, still tackling tangles. “You aren’t,” she answers simply, distracted.  
“Would you like some help?” Wyatt asks after a moment, watching her try and rip through her hair the way she is, he imagines that hurts. “I don’t mind.”  
She sighs in defeat and turns her back to him, handing him the brush. She’d let him save her life, she could let him brush her hair.

He’s gentle, but she knew he would be. He was gentle yesterday despite pounding her chest so hard he almost broke her ribs, she knew he was.  
“Do you have a daughter or something?” she asks, starting conversation.  
“How old do you think I am?” Wyatt chuckles.  
“It just feels like you’ve done this before,” she reasons, chin tucked into her chest. “Not many guys have experience with brushing hair. Or, you used to have a long, luscious locks, didn’t you?”  
He chuckles again. “Busted. Nah, I used to have a longtime girlfriend with long, tangly hair.”  
“Uh, I’m sorry, I just, I guess, I assumed– do you, uh– a girlfriend? Does she, does she know you’re here–” She turns to face him, almost instinctively.  
“Lucy, I don’t have a girlfriend, not anymore,” he tells her. “And besides, how much of a bitch would I have to be dating that she’d spite me for coming to check on you? Yours were the last lips I touched, of course I wanted to check in.”  
“Cause you’re such a gentleman?” she smirks. “Not cause I almost died?”  
“You don’t–” Wyatt starts, “You don’t have anyone that’d be jealous of me being here, do you? I can, I can go–”  
“No, no,” she hurries to answer. “No, no boyfriend. Just, my mom. She should be here soon, but you can stay. She’d like to meet you too, I’m sure. She’d like you.”  
“How are you sure she’d like me, you don’t even know me?”  
“I’d like to know you,” she tells him sincerely. “Who knows, maybe we’re soulmates and we don’t even know it yet.”  
“I’d like to know you too, ma’am,” Wyatt nods.  
She can’t help but smile at that. “You don’t have to call me ma’am, you know. I’m just… me.”  
“I know I don’t have to,” he nods. “I like to. Cause I’m such a gentleman, you said it yourself.” 

He likes her laugh, he really does. He wants to hear it more often. He wants to know her. Just like she said, they could be soulmates. Maybe they were soulmates.

**2.**

It’s just another night. Another drink at the same bar, another night of avoiding the same damn things in his life.

There’s nothing different about tonight, nothing at all. This bar was him and his wife’s place and that went to absolute shit; they’d been here many times, some good and some bad and some neither, really… then there was the bunch of nights he hung out here just him and a tequila bottle, those were becoming the norm lately. Tonight was one of those, no different from last night, or last week. Tomorrow would probably be the same. 

But tonight was Thursday and that did mean music night here, which was the best night of the week, especially when the singer was pretty like this week’s was… at least, she had a pretty voice, he hadn’t so much as glanced over towards the stage yet. He took a last swig of drink and that’s when his eyes finally drifted over. He’d been expecting much less than he saw.

She was just as pretty as her voice. The light of the stage made her glow, like an angel (or, maybe that was the beer goggles). Either way, she was an angel in blue and she lit up the room. Everyone’s eyes were on her, including his now. She commands power, she rules the roost, without even trying, without even realizing she’s doing it. She’s magic.

He lingers after her set’s done, as the night is drawing to a close. She lingers too, cleaning up, then ordering a drink herself. He has enough liquid courage in him to decide it’s a good idea to approach her, slide up beside her, introduce himself.  
“Can I get, uh, another whiskey neat, and whatever the lady wants?” he asks the bartender.  
She smiles, shaking her head. This is far from the first time this has happened to her, not even the first time in this bar. She’ll ride him out, maybe take him home tonight, and it’ll be done, dusted and in her rearview mirror by dawn. “What makes you assume I want anything?” she asks him. To the bartender, she says, “Vodka tonic.”  
“Being on stage for seventy-five minutes oughta make a girl thirsty,” he obliges. “No one with your amount of talent should have to buy their own alcohol.”  
She snickers to herself. He’s so typical. “Thank you,” she responds.  
“I’m sure you hear this all the time,” he acknowledges. “I’m Wyatt, by the way. Staff Sergeant Wyatt Logan.”  
“Staff Sergeant?” she asks, he can almost see her ears perk up. That was something she’d never heard. “That’s like, kinda high up, isn’t it?”  
He nods. “Yeah, I guess in some parts I’m kind of a big deal,” he jokes.  
“So you’re uptight and moody?”  
“Did you just ask me that?” he responds hesitantly. “One might describe Marine Corps men as, I don’t know, loyal, patriotic, disciplined, brave...”  
“Or uptight and moody.”  
“I complimented you,” he points out, almost confused by the interaction, sipping on his drink. “You are not compliment me back.”  
“Did I mention needy? Uptight, moody, and needy,” she adds, also drinking.  
“You are a real charmer,” he mutters. “I don’t even know your name and you are already charming my pants off.”  
“I can charm your pants off,” she responds, as if it’s a challenge. “My name’s Lucy, by the way,” she adds. “Do you want to get out of here? Go somewhere… a little quieter?”  
She didn’t have to say much more.

She has a motel room in town, so they head there. He didn’t really want to take her back to Pendleton… didn’t care to explain he was bringing home a girl he just met in a dive bar, not to mention his sheets probably still smelt like Jess; she’d only just packed her things and left, the ink wasn’t even dry on their divorce papers yet. He gathers somewhere amongst the drive that Lucy isn’t really from here, she grew up in San Mateo, though she hasn’t been home in a year or so, been bumming around SoCal with her band. She dropped out of Stanford as a sophomore, against her mother’s wishes. She’s an angry teen in a twenty-two year old body, looking for a cheap screw and some validation anywhere she can find it, and maybe a free drink too. 

And he didn’t really feel like being her flavour of the night, honestly.

“What do you mean? Lucy asks, her voice piquing in exasperation. She’s in bed, shirt off, hair up, all ready. “You’re just leaving me high and dry?!”  
Wyatt shrugs, sitting on the end of the bed, jacket and shoes still on, but her lipstick smeared on his face. “Not quite yet,” he reasons.  
“Am I not good enough for you?!” she asks. Her voice barely came out it was so quiet and so high-pitched. She didn’t mean that lightly, it wasn’t a throwaway comment. And Wyatt knew that.  
“You’re good enough,” he reassures her, looking into those deep, dark eyes of hers. If he looked deep enough he might even see a deep, dark soul in there. “Hell, you’re probably better than what I deserve.”  
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” she mumbles, wrapping the covers around her thin frame, preserving her dignity. She’d made a fool of herself, she never should’ve brought this guy home. This moody, uptight, needy– no. She was being the moody, uptight, needy one tonight. She always was.

“Why do you say that?” Wyatt asks her. “Who ever taught you that you aren’t good enough, Lucy? You seem pretty great to me. You’re talented, you’re gorgeous, you’re independent. I know you’re smart too. What more could you be?”  
“Wyatt I’m living out of a van, I lost my virginity to a man who ran a taco stand in Chula Vista, I’m living off tips and barely making it work, I dropped out of college for this–”  
“Does it make you happy?”  
She doesn’t answer. She averts her eyes like she’s in trouble, like she’s scared.  
“It isn’t a trick question, and there’s no wrong answer,” he guides her. “Just, does this make you happy?”  
“It used to,” she answers, that quiet, meek voice of hers coming back. “But, I don’t know anymore.”  
“You don’t know?”  
She barely shrugs, he thinks he spots her bottom lip just barely sprouting forward. Dear God, he made her cry. He made a lady cry, after denying her sex and practically psychoanalyzing her. It is just not his night, he should leave now… but he can’t leave, she’s crying. He made her cry.

“It’s okay,” he tells her, pulling her in close to his chest as she sniffles. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset.”  
“It wasn’t you,” she responds hastily, smearing makeup on her hand as she tries to wipe her eyes, “it was the vodka, I’m an emotional drunk with big feelings I’m running away from feeling.”  
“Yeah, I feel that,” he nods, ever so slightly. “I do that too.”  
“We sound like soulmates then,” Lucy laughs, wanting to sit up, move on from crying on this stranger’s chest. But it was warm, and comfortable, and he wasn’t a stranger anymore. “We’re a disaster.”  
Wyatt just smiles. He could be okay with the idea of being soulmates with this messy, musical muse.  
“We don’t have to have it all figured out,” he assures her. “And we can be a disaster and soulmates at the same time.” 

That makes her smile. In the drunken hum of the night and the crappy motel lights, Wyatt’s warm chest and the whiskey on his breath, she somehow felt the strings tighten a little. She felt like maybe it would be okay. Maybe they were disasters, maybe they were soulmates. Maybe they were both.

**3.**

“Ms. Preston?”  
Lucy looks up from her computer screen to see the chair of Stanford’s history department, Mr. Sommer, there with a tall, broad military man, all dressed up. She raises her eyebrows slightly, not expecting a soldier standing in her lecture hall.  
“You asked for a guest speaker,” Mr. Sommer reminds her. “Meet Master Sergeant Wyatt Logan, US Marine Corps, currently stationed at Pendleton. He’s volunteered to talk to your students today.”  
“O-Oh, right,” she collects herself, reaching out a hand. “Lucy Preston,” she introduces herself.  
“Ma’am,” he nods, shaking her hand.  
“Hi,” she stammers. Oh, she’s ever so good with men… attractive, blue-eyed, nice... men. “M-master Sergeant.”  
“You don’t have to call me Master Sergeant, Professor,” he tells her. “Just Wyatt’s fine.”  
“You don’t have to call me Professor either,” she obliges. “Or ma’am, or- just Lucy’s okay.”  
He grins, looking out at the hall, filling in slowly with undergraduate students. “Setting a good example for the kids.” 

“Are they good kids?” Wyatt asks, as he’s setting up.  
“They’re all good kids, I don’t believe in bad kids,” Lucy answers, tuning on the mic for him.  
“I don’t need that,” he tells her. “I tend to use my military voice when I talk to crowds, I don’t wanna blow anyone’s eardrums out.”  
“Then, just, speak quieter?” Lucy suggests.  
“What, can’t hear you?” Wyatt asks, into the mic. A few early students grimace and reach for their ears, and so does Lucy. He grins.  
“Okay, okay, you can take it off,” she agrees, unhooking the mic pack and all it’s wires from his nice, chiselled chest.  
“You can go sit down, ma’am,” he tells her confidently. “I’ve got this. Sit back and enjoy the show, take an hour off. Trust me, I’ve got this.”  
“Never in the history of anyone telling me to ‘trust them’, has that lead to me trusting them,” Lucy responds, laughing nervously, “with all due respect, Master Sergeant.”  
He places a hand on her shoulder– it’s very large in comparison to her very tiny frame– and it sends shivers through her. “With all due respect, ma’am, sit down and relax.” 

She takes a seat in the front row, her legs crossed like a nervous student. As the clock strikes 5 and class is set to begin, sure enough Wyatt looks out into the lecture hall with that confident, cocky grin, claps his hands, and has the whole room’s startled attention. “Hello,” he starts, giving them a salute. “My name’s Master Sergeant Logan, I’m with US Marine Corps’ Delta Force. I know I’m not as pretty or a charming as your professor is, but she’s asked me to come in and talk a little bit with you guys about my experience as a Marine; if you could give your attention for the next little while, she and I would both greatly appreciate it.”

He is a captivating speaker, that much is true. His military voice reaches the back of the theater without issue– Lucy can barely do that with the mic pack on– and he’s got a way of keeping everyone interested even when it gets deep and dark, as all war stories do. But his isn’t like every other war story they’ve heard, not quite. It feels different. 

As his presentation draws to a close, that big, shiny smile is back on his face and he’s got the whole room clapping for him. Lucy’s got a smile on her face too, as she comes back up to the front. “Thank you, Master Sergeant, for spending some time with us.”  
“No problem, ma’am,” he answers, not in his sergeant voice. “Hey, Professor,” he says next, his voice low enough that the students won’t hear. “What time does class get out?”  
“It, uh, it, in forty-five minutes,” she stammers quickly. “W-why?”  
He grins. “At the risk of being too forward, would you let me take you out to dinner?”  
Her heart breaks and soars at the same time. “I-I would love to,” she admits, her voice shaking, “but I can’t, I have to get home– my sister, my mom, I have–”  
She stops, as he shakes his head, and a more gracious smile spreads on his nice lips. “It’s alright,” he tells her. “Maybe another time, ma’am. Or, maybe not.”  
He gives her a little salute as he treads backwards out of the hall. He gives a bigger one to the class, and most of them do it back. He’s got them wrapped around his finger. Lucy too. _Damnit._

She pulls out of the parking lot upset, she drives home upset– upset that she couldn’t go out with Master Sergeant Blue Eyes. She wanted to– God, she wanted to– she didn’t want to stop at the convenience store on her way home, grab a Snickers and a cheap bottle of wine, and sit by her ailing mother’s bedside. She’d rather be with Wyatt. But Amy’s gotta go to work, her shift starts at eight… She’s gotta go home. She may walk through the door sighing, but…

She drops the Snickers on the night stand and plops down on the edge of the bed, taking off her heels. “Mom,” she starts, even though she’s sound asleep, as she is most of the time, “I met a really nice guy tonight. You would’ve really liked him, I swear. He calls me ma’am, and I don’t hate it. He wanted to take me out to dinner and he’d only talked to me for a few minutes, he only knew me for over an hour. Or maybe you wouldn’t have liked him, would’ve thought he was a risk, I don’t know. Well of course he’s a risk. And, I could probably use one right about now.”  
She pops open the bottle of wine she bought at 7-11, her and Amy keep a bottle opener and glasses in the bottom drawer. The nightstand has a strict organization system: on top are the Snickers and the important meds, first drawer are more meds and all of Mom’s stuff, and the bottom drawer is their stuff, including their extensive wine resources.  
“I’ll probably never see him again, so, it’s whatever. I’ll find someone less risky out there one day,” she sighs. “He won’t be another Master Sergeant Blue Eyes. But it’s okay.” 

Amy pops her head in, her work clothes on and a cheeky little sister grin on her face. She’s always just outside, always one stride away like a shadow.  
“Are you out for the night?” Lucy asks, motioning her to come over and sit for a minute.  
“I was on my way out the door,” she starts skeptically, “and then I heard your sad Cinderella story.”  
Lucy peers at her over the top of her wine glass. “With Wyatt? This isn’t a Cinderella story. It’s just the wrong place and the wrong time, I don’t have time right now for a crazy romance with a soldier. Who has time for that?”  
“You could,” Amy points out. “You can’t spend all your time here at Mom’s bedside. You know she wouldn’t want that. You have to live a little sometimes. You have to actually be someone other than a daughter and a professor.”  
“So diving in headfirst with a man I just met, that’s the answer?”  
Amy shrugs. “Sitting here with a bottle of wine and your granny pants certainly isn’t.”  
“Excuse me, for your information, I haven’t changed into my granny pants yet,” Lucy defends herself, laughing a little.  
“Good! Put on something nice and go out with Master Sergeant Blue Eyes! I’ll call into work. He could be your soulmate, and you’d never even know cause you let him slip away.”  
“Amy,” Lucy sighs, trying to pretend she isn’t seriously considering taking this out.  
_“He could be your soulmate,”_ Amy stresses. 

So, Lucy finishes her wine, and reaches into her jacket pocket for the sticky note with Wyatt’s number. “H-hey, Master Sergeant,” she starts, “It’s Lucy. Would you still be up to dinner?”

4.

_Remember the days when you prayed for the things you have now?_

Wyatt wasn’t the praying type, and never much had been. Even more so, he’d always been taught that you don’t pray to ask for things, you don’t pray selfishly– should you choose to pray at all. There was a time, though, born of desperation or whatnot, that he had prayed; asked whatever was up, down, or out there, to make things right. Make things stop coming out of left field and slapping him in the face. Make people stop dying when they shouldn’t, stop coming back to life when they shouldn’t. And, of course, to make things come to fruition, good or bad, between him and Lucy. Set them both free or send them both barreling home. Just… _something._

He’d spent a lot of late nights praying for that one, he swore the hard floors of the bunker took five years off his knees. But he did it anyways. 

And now, it’d all come together, whether it was God or it was just them. Tomorrow morning when the sun slipped into their room, they’d be wed. Right now, it’s them two by moonlight… not supposed to be in the same bed, but Rufus was a really deep sleeper and a really bad warden. Jiya was just easily bribed– Lucy paid for her cooperation by way of hors d'oeuvres, and she agreed to keep their secret with a greasy finger pressed to her grin. So it was togetherness, covers and cold feet and easy, sweet silence. Tomorrow’s a big day and they should get some sleep… but they just can’t seem to close their eyes.

Wyatt runs his fingers softly in Lucy’s hair and along the side of her face. Her hand rests on his chest, over his heart.  
“I never thought we’d make it here,” Lucy admits, finding her voice under the heavy nighttime lull. “A year ago, two years ago, three years ago.”  
“Me either,” Wyatt agrees with a sigh. “We really it through just about everything to get here.”  
“Well don’t jinx us,” Lucy smiles, drumming faded red painted nails against his collarbone. “But we really have been through the ringer, and I only made it through because I wasn’t alone. I had you, even when I didn’t.”  
He nods, taking another deep sigh. There had definitely a period where things looked like they’d never be in their favour, before Rufus died, in the bunker… they were dark days. But the sun rose again, and they tried again. 

All roads lead home. They followed the maps and walked the paths, and they ended up at each other’s doors with open arms. With every walk of life, every avenue explored, in any time and any space, they remained. Together, as if binded by an invisible, invincible thread. 

And, you know, some would describe that as _soulmates._

**Author's Note:**

> As I said, any suggestions for more timelines, leave them in a comment below :)


End file.
